real estate envy


A Texas-sized mystery: who will own the enormous $725 million Waggoner ranch? | Read more

A three-hour drive north-west of Dallas, Waggoner ranch spans about 800 square miles across six counties, making it far bigger than greater London and two-thirds the size of the smallest US state, Rhode Island. The sales brochure calls it “a giant piece of Texas history” – with a price tag to match. The Waggoner was listed at $725m. 

The ranch was founded in 1849 and has remained in the Waggoner family, but heirs spent decades quarrelling over its future before a judge finally approved a plan to sell it. Bidding closed Tuesday – but the identity of the new owner remains a mystery for now. | Read more

anonymous asked:

I would pay good money for a fic about the Montparnasse/Enjolras Monopoly Alliance. It sounds brilliant!

Montparnasse took a long sip of wine, satisfied by the display. The board would have made a real estate agent blush with envy. Montparnasse had always been good at acquiring things, hotel spots in Monopoly was one of them.

To think he had almost declined Jehan’s invitation! How did he manage to survive for so long without the delectable air of frustration and defeat painted on his enemies faces? The petite, curly haired one (Courgettac?) had flipped the board once, that was grand. Montparnasse would still smile about it on his death bed.

Of course, none of that would have been possible without the help of his partner in crime. Though allying with Blondie had meant forgoing all his principes, Enjolras had proven himself a decent player. Roughless, with that. Robespierre in short pants had more in common with a thief than he was ready to admit.

There were only three players left: Montparnasse, Goldilocks and Stubble. Montparnasse liked Stubble. He had good tastes in wine, though in nothing else, judging by his disgrace of a green hoodie. Jehan had lost quickly, too kind hearted and careless with money that they were, in spite of Montparnasse’s generous loan offers. Their head rested on their boyfriend’s lap now. Parnasse would have called it a bad angle, but he didn’t have a bad angle to begin with.

“Mon ange, would you be so kind as to loan me some money?” Stubble honeyed in Enjolras’ direction.

“The capitalistic order we live in is cold and cruel, Grantaire.”

“So you would leave me to rot on the streets?” Grantaire burst, slamming a hand to his chest.

The losers snickered in the background. Blondie was making a point. Something about teaching how capitalism impacts housing. Given the number of red hotels placed on the board, the lesson was successful.

“It’s the hard reality we have to face every day, mon amour.”

“Parnasse?” Jehan called softly.

Montparnasse lowered his chin, his thumb gently stroking Jehan’s cheek.

“You would have given me a loan, eh? Even in debt and in the cold and cruel capitalistic order we live in?”

“Of course I would have. All the loans, just for you.”

He flashed a shit eating grin at Stubble, his last strategy to get him to lay the dice down. More tired than defeated, Grantaire rubbed his eyes and got up:

“Fine. If you look for me, I’ll be sleeping under a bridge, mon ange.

Montparnasse raised his wine glass as he went, then waved it in Enjolras’ direction:

“To a crushing victory, partner.”